Chapter 2

Bilbo yawned, rubbing his eyes after blinking them open. The sun was shining through the window, casting a merry glow to the room. The hobbit blinked a few more times. Something was bothering him, yet he couldn't quite place the feeling.

A minute or so passed as Bilbo tried to shake the lethargy of sleep from his mind. Finally, the source of his unease registered; there was silence. Why was it so quiet? Thirteen dwarves made a lot of noise - awake or not. Their snores alone were enough to wake the dead.

Springing out of bed, Bilbo dashed out into the hall, and burst into the first guest-room. It stood empty. He checked each door, the kitchen, the living room and the dining room, but there was no sign of last night's arrivals, except for the mighty mess they have left behind. That, and the contract sitting innocently on his dining table.

"Those utter bastards!" Bilbo growled, glaring at the parchment lying in the exact same position he had left it in. Had those imbeciles even thought to check if he had signed before they left him behind?

"Thoughtless, ignorant, rude..." Bilbo kept muttering as he rushed to the bathroom, where he peeled his undergarments off, and unceremoniously dumped a bucket of unheated water upon his head. Wrapping a towel around his middle, Bilbo ran back to his room, ransacking his closets for the backpack he knew had to be there somewhere.

"Aha!" he yelped when he finally found it. He threw it towards his bed, not much caring where it landed. He then began yanking trousers, shirts, and underwear into his hands, and carried his burden to the awaiting backpack. He donned the garments on the very top of the pile, and stuffed the rest into the pack.

This done, Bilbo flew through the smial, chucking things that he supposed might be needed during the oncoming journey atop the change of clothes, like a thick blanket, a scarf, scissors, a tin cup, a book or two, his pipe and some pipe weed, candles, a comb, soap, nuts and dried berries from his kitchen cupboards, a few dried healing herbs, his mother's old traveling raincoat, and finally he managed to fit in some tea leaves as well.

At the door, he hesitated for a moment. It would probably be practical to wear his thick winter coat instead of the more proper waistcoat, yet the temperature in Hobbiton was too warm to warrant such a thing. In the end, Bilbo threw his pack down, scurried back to his bedroom, and pulled on one of his thicker - if not entirely stylish - wests, grabbed the contract on his way to the door, and decided to lug the coat around until it was needed. Better safe than sorry. He was already over the threshold when he remembered something slightly more important than combs and candles; he would probably need a blade to defend himself with.

For a second and last time, he ran back inside and searched his kitchen for the biggest knife he could find. Wrapping it in a handkerchief, he stuffed it under his belt, and set off.

Bilbo sprinted as fast as his furry feet would carry him. There was only one direction the company could have gone in, but it was uncertain wether the hobbit could catch up or not. When had they left? An hour ago? Two? Oh, those idiotic fools!

Bilbo was huffing and puffing by the time he spotted a gathering that looked suspiciously like his missing band of dwarves by the Green Dragon Inn at the town-square. Bilbo slowed down to a trot, sighing in relief, then scowling at the group in the distance. It was two of the youngsters that spied him first.

"Master Boggins!" they shouted in tandem, jumping and waving as Bilbo approached. "You came after all! We were getting worried. It's almost eleven o'clock, you know," Kili said, clucking his tongue like a demented mother hen.

Bilbo sent him a glare that could melt ice. "Yes, Master Kili, I have come after you. Although it would have been nice not to be left behind in the first place!"

The young dwarf shrank back at his anger. His brother, Fili spoke up in their defense. "We just wanted to give you some space to decide. We left you a note, too!" he said, as if that was supposed to make sense to the harried hobbit.

"A note you say? Where have you left it? Under the dirty plates and mugs littering the house? Perhaps under a broken vase? Or maybe among the scattered blankets you have used? No, Master Fili, I didn't find your note. I have also signed the contract - yesterday night," he explained, as if speaking to a toddler.

The brothers winced. "Oh... in that case... sorry?" Kili offered hesitantly. Bilbo rolled his eyes. Sorry indeed.

The rest of the dwarves and Gandalf were watching the exchange with varying degrees of amusement. Well, not the king; he looked as if he was sucking on a lemon, as usual. 'And the joyful times to still come! I can hardly wait,' thought Bilbo, his shoulders sagging.

He then spotted the ponies grazing around the group, their backs leaden with familiar traveling gear. A brown beast nearby had no burden though, except for the saddle. Bilbo quickly put two and two together.

"You want me to ride that?!"

- FM -

The first few days of travel went by without much hassle. The company left behind Hobbiton and the Shire soon enough, and Bilbo let himself heave a mournful sigh by the border before following after the group. What were his chances of ever seeing his home again? With a dragon waiting for him, Bilbo wasn't too hopeful of his fate.

The company was heading for Bree. Bilbo could hardly wait to get there. Even if they haven't been on the road for long, the lack of a good night's rest was already taking its toll on the hobbit. He wasn't used to sleeping out in the open - one blanket was hardly enough to keep away the evening chill - the food he had stashed in his pack was already running low (three meals a day were hardly enough, if eating breakfast and lunch on horseback could be called meals at all), and the dwarves were as insufferable as expected. At least Bilbo could buy a proper bedroll and supplies in the town, as well as get a warm bed in the inn if all went well.

Bilbo could have cried in relief when they entered Bree.

"Let us head for the inn. Perhaps they still have a room or two available for the night," said Gandalf.

It was late afternoon already, so the king nodded his consent. It would be unreasonable to push the group further when evening would be upon them soon.

"Master Bofur," Bilbo called out to one of the few sensible dwarves before he could disappear with the rest of the company.

"Master Baggins?" the dwarf inquired as he steered his pony towards Bilbo. "I have told you to call me Bofur. I am no master of anything," he chided with an easy grin.

"Bofur, then. And I am simply Bilbo, too," the hobbit said with an answering smile. "I have need of a few things I can buy in town. Would you mind telling the others I will be back shortly? I would be terribly thankful if you could save me a comfortable bed as well, if possible," Bilbo said in a polite tone.

"Of course. I have noticed you have no bedroll at night," the dwarf mused, scratching his chin. "You should probably get a bowl and a spoon for meals. A waterskin, too. And a good weapon," he added the last staring at the knife wrapped in a pretty purple handkerchief with pointed - if amused - intensity.

Bilbo shrugged. "Will do. Thank you, Bofur. Can I leave Myrtle with you?" he asked pointing at his pony. When the dwarf nodded, Bilbo scrambled off the saddle with a grateful groan. Bofur snickered, but left the hobbit to his misery without further taunts. Bilbo was already cranky after all, he didn't want to ignite his wrath.

The two parted ways after Bilbo divested Myrtle of his pack. He was lucky one of the side pockets held a stash of emergency money tucked away inside, otherwise Bilbo would have been penniless. He had forgotten to secure any coins in his haste to catch up to the company.

Bilbo's first trip led to the main market, as it would be closing earlier than the stores. Though reluctant, the hobbit found himself selling some of the more useless items he had hoarded together in his haste to depart, all in order to make space - and money - for necessities. His tea and cup went first, and the same merchant thankfully took most of his candles as well. He got rid of the kitchen knife, his books, then his medicinal herbs; there was a healer in the group, so they served no purpose.

Bilbo then stocked up on dried, smoked strips of meat, nuts and crackers, which he hoped would tide him over his hunger pangs for a few weeks. Hobbit metabolism differed greatly from dwarves'; they needed seven large meals a day just to maintain a slightly rounded stomach. Bilbo would have to get himself used to less food and energy in the oncoming days slowly but surely.

After leaving the market Bilbo did as Bofur had suggested. He procured a waterskin, a bowl and a spoon, bought a nice, warm bedroll, and went in search for a shop that sold swords and other pointy objects. When he found a suitable store, Bilbo fidgeted by the door uncomfortably before steeling his shoulders and marching inside.

"Hello, good sir. May I help you?" offered the elderly man behind the counter, lifting his brows at the lost looking face Bilbo was sure he was sporting.

"Well, I'm looking for a weapon," he said.

"Yes, obviously," the man muttered in a dry tone. "What sort of weapon did you have in mind? What would a hobbit need one for, anyway?"

Bilbo shrugged. "I am traveling far and I have heard of the dangers on the roads, so I need something to defend myself with. I have no particular skill with swords or bows though. Any suggestions you may have are welcome."

The man eyed him incredulously for a while before he spoke. "Any sword here would be much too large for you. The bows as well. Axes are out of the question. How about knives? How's your aim?"

"My aim?" Bilbo was fairly decent at darts and conkers. "It's fine, I guess."

The old man nodded, and gestured Bilbo to the counter, upon which he placed a few sets of knives. Each pile consisted of three or more similar blades. "These are mostly meant for throwing, but they work for close range combat, too," the man explained. "Want to try?"

Bilbo accepted the offer, and he was lead to the side of the room, where a painted wooden target hung. A knife was placed between his fingers, blade first. Bilbo shuddered.

"Can't I hold it by the hilt?" he squeaked, nervous of shaving his fingers off with a butchered attempt at wielding the thing.

"Sure, I just tend to teach it like that to discourage fright of your own blade." Bilbo immediately changed his grip, and the man let out a scratchy laugh at his antics. "All right, now...

- FM -

It was dark by the time Bilbo made it to the Prancing Pony. The noise coming from inside was quite scary, drunken men yelling and girls giggling never signified a proper place for a proper hobbit, but Bilbo didn't have much choice in the matter. The hobbit pulled his backpack higher on his shoulder, opened the door a crack, and slunk in.

He avoided looking at anyone as he inched toward the bar, staying as close to the wall as possible. The inn was crowded; there were no free tables as far as Bilbo could see in the thick smoke, and a lot of patrons were even standing as the serving girls weaved their way around them expertly. Despite trying his best to avoid attention, Bilbo still felt the gazes following his every move, and he had to grip the straps of his pack tighter to stop his hands from shaking. His new knives were an unexpectedly comforting weight in the situation, hanging from his belt in their leather sheath.

"Master Boggins! Master Boggins! This way!" Bilbo heard a yell, and snapped his head up to see Fili waving him closer, doing his best to keep his brother upright as the later attempted to empty a whole mug of ale in a single breath. Bilbo relaxed a little and trudged over, eyeing the younger of the demonic duo sway back and forth as he finished off his drink, smacking his lips indecently.

"Bofur said you'd be by in a bit, said you needed to buy a few supplies," Fili slurred.

Bilbo nodded at the inquiry. "Yes, I have everything now. Can you please direct me to my room?"

Fili's face lit up with a blinding smile. The hobbit flinched as the boy leaned closer, blowing an acrid gust of breath into his face. "Of course, Master Boggins! We got a grand total of three rooms - and you're staying with us!" he exclaimed happily.

Bilbo groaned. What has he ever done to deserve this? Where his nephews went, their uncle was sure to follow, which meant Bilbo would be sleeping in close vicinity to the sour King.

"Lovely," the hobbit muttered, as he was yanked toward the staircase next to the bar. Once upstairs, it took the drunken brothers two tries to find the correct door.

"If it isn't our burglar," drawled the unpleasant voice of Thorin Oakenshield as the trio filed inside. Bilbo spotted the dwarf standing by the open window as he puffed on his pipe. "I was beginning to think you bolted." His tone left no question about his hopes on the matter.

Bilbo ignored the remark, and scanned the room. There were only two beds. 'Great. Lovely,' Bilbo thought with a mental moan of misery. Of course he wouldn't get a bed, a soft mattress would have been too much to ask for. It wasn't like he could expect the royal family to camp on the floor while the fussy hobbit got comfortable. Bilbo sighed. It seemed he would be trying out his new bedroll sooner rather than later.

Ignoring the siblings as they fell upon the sheets, already snoring before they hit, as well as the king, whose stare kept burning a hole through the back of his skull, Bilbo shuffled over to the worn rug by the fireplace, unrolled his bedding, peeled off his west, and climbed in under the blanket, facing the fire all the while. Oh, how he wished for a nice bath! Perhaps in the morning? It would be heavenly to wash off the accumulated grime of the last few days.

That night Bilbo dreamed of lavender-scented water and the soft, clean clothes stacked high in his closet back in the Shire.